


Dust From His Hands

by circ_bamboo



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: M/M, Multi, Pike/Manpain, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-05
Updated: 2011-01-05
Packaged: 2017-10-14 11:10:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/148650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/circ_bamboo/pseuds/circ_bamboo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim's in town.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dust From His Hands

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rubynye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/gifts).



> Originally posted at rubynye's [commentfic-fest](http://rubynye.livejournal.com/547041.html) for her birthday (happy birthday!)
> 
> I think this story mostly stands by itself, but I've made some assumptions based on some not-yet-posted stories from the OT3-verse of ♥, also known as the bunny!verse. [](http://boosette.livejournal.com/profile)[**boosette**](http://boosette.livejournal.com/) arbitrarily assigned Pike a birth year of 2210, so this story takes place mid-2260 (I think I arbitrarily decided he was born in July) and that makes Jim 27. (Number One is forty-three.) The bunny is an English lop; she was a gift from the unmentioned girlfriend (whom he acquires subsequent to the discussion in [_Blonde, Brunette, Redhead_](http://circ-bamboo.livejournal.com/6483.html)) because Pike's allergic to cats. If you have any questions about Pike's physical condition and where exactly I'm pulling his physical reactions from, send me a PM or email.
> 
> Prompts at the end.

Chris Pike was sitting in the corner of the couch in his quarters, trying to figure out how to get something out of another room without moving, when his door chimed, and he called, “Come.” It was about 1600, and Jim Kirk should be arriving. A moment later, the door opened, and he belatedly remembered the speed of the rabbit drowsing lazily next to his foot. “Watch out for the—” He sighed. “Shit.”

“What was that?” Jim asked, but answered his own question. “Oh. Right. Flopsy. I’ve just never seen her move so fast. Hold on a second.” He disappeared into the hallway and returned with an armful of brown-and-white fur and huge ears; the door slid shut behind him. “Oof. I swear she weighs more than last time.”

Chris sighed again. “I need to stop letting the cadets come over and feed her treats.”

“That must be it,” Jim said, setting a thoroughly-disapproving Flopsy down on the floor, well away from the couch where Chris was sitting. He strode over to the couch in three quick steps, leaned over, and kissed Chris warmly. “How are you? Wait,” he said, eyes narrowing. “I’m pretty sure the answer to that question is ‘crappy,’ if not full-on ‘shitty.’ Want me to call Dr. Boyce?”

“No,” Chris said, a little more harshly than he meant to. He sighed a third time. “You probably don’t want to stay, Jim. It’s been a rotten day, and I’ll be terrible company.”

“I only get to see you twice a year, at best,” Jim said, sitting on the couch, a few inches away from Chris. “Do you think I’m giving up even a minute of it because you’re in a lousy mood?”

“That’s sweet,” Chris said acidly, “but you should reconsider.”

“Stop that,” Jim said to Flopsy, who was nibbling on his shoelaces, although he made no move to dislodge her. “You too,” he said, turning back to Chris. “Where are your hypos? I’m taking you out of here.”

“Have you not heard a word I’ve said?” Chris asked.

“Do you not know who I am?” Jim retorted.

In a battle of wills, under normal conditions, Chris would have won hands-down; he’d been a captain since Jim was in grade school. Unfortunately, he was worn down from hours of pain; he was too damn stubborn to call someone to go retrieve a hypo out of the bedroom, and his muscles were too locked up to go get one himself. After a long minute of blue eyes locked onto gray, Chris sighed yet again and shook his head. “In the drawer next to the bed.”

“You mean where you keep the lube?” Jim said as he went to the bedroom.

“No, opposite side.”

“Ah.” Jim returned a couple moments later with a hypospray in one hand. “Is this the right one?”

Chris looked at it. “Yes.” He tipped his head as far to one side as he could, which wasn’t far at the moment, and Jim pressed the hypo gently to his neck. “Thank God McCoy taught you how to do that properly,” he said.

Jim snorted. “That sadistic bastard? No; it was Chapel, since she actually doesn’t take it quite as personally every time I get hurt.” He set the hypospray on the end table, hopefully out of Flopsy’s ambit, and took one of Chris’s hands in his. “How long until it kicks in?”

“A few minutes,” Chris said as Jim carefully rubbed the base of his palm with his thumbs. “It’s not an instant fix, Jim,” he said. “I’m still going to be stiff and sore.”

“I know,” Jim said. “And probably pissy, too.” He smiled, and Chris found that he couldn’t be _too_ annoyed with him. It was one of the hazards of sleeping with Jim Kirk, although he’d been susceptible to the smile long before they’d made anything official.

He suddenly wished Number One was here. Well, not that he didn’t usually, but she balanced them, anchored the two stubborn men who were, occasionally, too much alike. _Although_ , he thought, _she would have just called Phil without asking me first._

Jim’s ministrations on his hand were pleasant, and he closed his eyes and leaned against the back of the couch. He could feel the edge of the drugs starting to kick in, and his shoulders and jaw, at least, were less locked up.

“Better?” Jim asked, and he nodded without opening his eyes.

Five or ten minutes after that, Jim had worked his way up to Chris’s scalp and was massaging the back of his neck. It was incredibly pleasant, and he shifted in his seat.

That was a mistake. “Ow,” he said, gritting his teeth.

“What?” Jim said, stilling his hands.

“Fucking sciatic nerve.”

“Ah,” Jim said. “What can I do to help?”

“It’ll stop hurting like a motherfucker in a minute and go back to hurting normally,” Chris said. “It doesn’t make my neck hurt.”

“I’ll take that as a hint.”

God, how much he wouldn’t give to lean into Jim’s hands, to turn to him and push him down on the couch and make out like teenagers before heading to the bedroom. But _no_ , his fucking nervous system didn’t work properly and he just had to have a bad day when the younger and more athletic of his two partners was in town.

Not that he would even _think_ that around Number One, who would take it as a challenge to prove just how young and athletic she was.

The pain gradually subsided, and Chris thought he might be able to move. Carefully. If he thought about everything first. “Where did you want to go?” he asked Jim.

Who grinned. “It’s a surprise,” he said.

“I don’t have to walk much, do I?” Chris asked warily.

“Nope,” Jim said. “Not at all, if you don’t want to.”

If it were anyone other than Jim or One or maybe, if it were a really bad day, Phil, he’d have said, _No, of course, I can walk as far as you want me to._ Instead, he said, “That’s good.”

Jim nodded, flipped open his comm unit, and said, “Scotty, plan B.”

“Aye, sir,” came Scotty’s response. “We’ll be ready in about five minutes.”

“Perfect. Warn us. Kirk out.” He flipped the comm closed, and grinned. “Think you can stand by then?”

“Oh, probably.” Chris’s returned smile was a bit more wolfish than Jim’s, but they both knew that the challenge had been stated and accepted.

“Uh, is there anything I need to do with the bunny?” Jim asked, indicating Flopsy with his toe.

“Oh, if you can put her in the enclosure in the corner, that would be great. She got fed at lunchtime.”

“I can do that,” Jim said.

Chris raised an eyebrow, but said, “All right.”

Five minutes of the hilarity of Jim chasing a thirteen-pound rabbit around the apartment later, he got Flopsy into the enclosure and came over to the couch, offering his arm. Chris gritted his teeth again, hoping he didn’t have a dentist’s appointment any time soon. The problem wasn’t so much sitting or standing, but getting between the two. Placing one hand on the arm of the sofa and his other on Jim’s arm, he pushed.

It hurt. There was no two ways about it. The pain flashed white and red from his hips up his back and all the way down the outside of his legs into his ankles. His knees buckled slightly, and his vision grayed out for a moment. When it came back, he was standing, still clinging to Jim’s arm, and he blew out the breath he’d been holding. “Okay,” he said to Jim. “I’m vertical.”

Jim nodded. “Do you need anything else?”

“My comm’s over there,” he said, pointing, and Jim retrieved it from the indicated table. “I’m ready.” God, he hoped whatever Jim wanted him to do was worth it.

Jim’s comm beeped, and he flipped it open. “Two to beam up, Scotty.”

The familiar tingling feeling of a transporter came over him, and when it left, he was on the observation deck of what had to be the _Enterprise_. There was a couch along one wall, not a standard part of the furniture, and it faced the window, looking not at Earth or the moon but up into the stars.

“Oh,” he said. “Oh.”

Jim looked at him. “Is this all right?” he said.

“Yeah,” Chris said, and squeezed his hand reassuringly. It—

He forgot—well, not so much _forgot_ as _resolutely pushed out of his mind_ —that he needed this. God, the _stars_.

“When’s the last time you were up here?” Jim asked.

“I was up on the _Yorktown_ briefly when One was around in January,” he replied.

“Six months, huh,” Jim said. “No wonder you’re getting twitchy.”

Chris frowned. “I’m not twitchy.”

“Okay,” Jim said with a shrug. “Do you want to sit?”

“Oh, probably,” he said, and they stepped the few feet to the couch, ever slowly.

“I can also turn down the gravity,” Jim offered. “I asked both Bones and Dr. Boyce; they said it should be fine.”

“Maybe in a bit,” Chris said, as he lowered himself, with Jim’s help, to the couch. It was easier to move now; his muscles were starting to loosen and clamp on the nerves less.

Jim sat down a few inches away from him. “I don’t know what I can do and not hurt you,” he said.

Chris blinked, and pulled Jim in for another kiss. “Head in my lap,” he suggested, and Jim swung his legs around, stretching out on the couch and resting his head on Chris’s thigh.

“Is this okay?” Jim asked.

“I said it was,” Chris said, an edge to his voice. Jim looked at him, and he sighed. “Sorry,” he said. “I guess I am twitchy.”

“Only a little,” Jim said, and rested his hand on Chris’s knee.

Chris laid a hand on Jim’s head, and started stroking his hair, the short strands tickling his fingers.

Jim picked up his comm and said, “Okay, Mr. Sulu; you can take her out.”

“Where are we going?” Chris asked, desperately trying to keep himself from tensing.

“Oh, just for a spin around the block.” Jim stroked Chris’s knee.

“You didn’t think I might like to be on the bridge for that?” Chris asked. He could hear the edge come back in his voice, but didn’t care.

“That was Plan A,” Jim said mildly. “Then I thought perhaps you didn’t want my bridge crew and who knows how many other people seeing you not able to walk, if this was a bad day, and so I came up with Plan B.”

“Oh,” Chris said. He watched the stars wrench impossibly as the ship turned around, catching the moon in the observation window. Not more than a few moments later, they passed Mars and Deimos and Phobos, and headed for the asteroid belt. He let the sight flow over him and tried to relax.

Somewhere around Saturn, the feel of Jim’s hair under one hand and Jim’s shoulder under the other, as well as the view out the window, reminded him that Jim was doing these things because he _loved_ him. “I’m sorry, Jim,” he said quietly.

“It’s all right,” Jim said, rolling over to face him. “You’re in pain.”

Chris sighed. “That’s not really an excuse.”

“Excuse, reason, explanation.” Jim shrugged, and reached up to cup Chris’s cheek. “I don’t care. You’re here, I’m here, and there are stars out there.”

“True,” Chris said, and smiled. A few minutes later, he sighed. He owed Jim a little more than that. “My father called this afternoon, just after lunch.”

“Huh,” Jim said noncommittally.

“He wished me a happy birthday.”

“It’s not until next week,” Jim said.

“I’ll be fifty, Jim.”

“I know,” Jim said. “I’m a certified genius, remember? It includes basic math.” He grinned.

“Hush, you,” Chris said, and tapped him on the forehead. “I don’t—Fifty. Half a fucking century.”

“Oh, it’s probably not so bad,” Jim said. “Better than your forty-eighth birthday, I’m sure. You can walk now. You have, what, two partners and a lover? You have a house rabbit. I’m pretty sure you don’t entirely hate your job.”

“It really would be best if you shut up right now,” Chris said evenly, tamping down the instinctive desire to throttle Jim. Yes, he could walk—usually. Yes, he had plenty of romantic and/or sexual partners—more, he thought most days, than he deserved. Yes, he had a house rabbit, and still most of his baseboards. No, he didn’t hate his fucking job. But the list of things he didn’t have—well, the _Enterprise_ was on the top of it. He’d thought that nearly two years in therapy with Liz had fixed that particular flaw in his psyche, but no. Turned out he was still _broken_.

“I love you,” Jim said suddenly.

Although he’d said it before—lord knows how many times—Chris still got the same stab of joy in his chest that he had the first time. It deflated the balloon of self-pity lodged under his breastbone at least somewhat, and a few breaths later, he was able to say, “I love you, too.” Another deep breath later, and he admitted, “I don’t like reminders that I’m—” He gestured.

“What?” Jim asked, curious rather than demanding.

Chris considered and discarded several words, including _broken_ , _damaged goods_ , _fucked up_ , and _old_ , before settling on, “Obsolete.”

Jim raised an eyebrow; Chris was willing to bet he’d picked up that habit from his CMO. “You’re not obsolete,” he said with absolute certainty.

“I know that,” Chris said. “Most of the time.” It had been a long day; he’d had to deal with his father, and turning fifty and the associated reminder that he was almost twice Jim’s age, and then not taking the muscle relaxants until he already had tied himself into knots—well, he almost thought he was due a bout of self-pity. Oh well. He was on the _Enterprise_ , and he was with Jim; for a few minutes, he could relax.

Jim nodded, and turned back to his side so he could watch the stars and planets as they went by. Despite the inertial dampeners, Chris felt the ship make a long, slow turn to one side, and a few minutes later, Uranus came into view, faintly blue. He counted the moons; only a dozen or so were visible at the moment.

The first time he’d seen all the planets in the Sol system was a field trip when he was seven or eight. He’d spent the entire time with his nose pressed to the window of the ship, even though his classmates had laughed. Now, he stayed on the couch, not because he couldn’t stand—he thought he probably could by now—but because he had Jim in his lap, under his hands.

“We’re coming back around to Earth now,” Jim said, an hour or so later. “Let me turn down the gravity?”

“Oh, all right,” Chris said, and smiled.

Jim sat up and ordered the computer to turn down the gravity, and Chris pushed himself off the couch, gently stretching out as he floated in mid-air. A glimmer appeared on the artificial horizon, and the edge of Earth—not filling the entire window, but still large—appeared.

Jim’s hands appeared on his shoulders, and he turned to the side, keeping the window in his peripheral vision. “Come here,” Jim said, and he reached a foot down to the couch to propel himself into Jim’s arms.

If he clung a little desperately, Jim either didn’t notice or pretended not to notice, and used his own foot on the couch to send them spinning gently, as in a waltz, towards the window.

Chris smiled, pressed a kiss to Jim’s temple, and watched the Earth rise.

**Author's Note:**

> 13\. Kick off your shoes and dance in the sky,  
> Stand back and watch the full Earth rise.  
> Dance like a flame in free-fall.  
> We wont weigh nothing at all.
> 
> 21\. And the sea that calls is not the sea of old  
> But the starlit sea of fire and eternal cold.
> 
> 27\. Cycles turn while the far stars burn, And people and planets age.  
> Lifes crown passes to younger lands, Time sweeps dust of hope from his hands  
> And turns another page.


End file.
